


Gunpowder, Silk and Dreams

by akamine_chan



Category: Hard Core Logo
Genre: Community: ds_snippets, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-06
Updated: 2010-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:11:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/pseuds/akamine_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the biggest "fuck you" that Joe had managed in his entire fucked-up life and Billy was still pissed about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gunpowder, Silk and Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LiveJournal community: ds_snippets
> 
> Warning: canon character death
> 
> Notes: Unbeta'd. Spuffyduds kinda dared me to write some snippets for the amnesty - I made her choose the prompts and fandom/characters. Not sure about this one.
> 
> Prompts: pillow, tell, frame, silk, recoil

Billy wondered how it felt when Joe pulled the trigger, the gun recoiling in his hand, the smell of gunpowder loud in the air.

He could make a call, talk to Bruce and he could _see_ it, carefully framed on film, recorded; the last moments in the fucked up life of Joe Dick. Billy's hand would hover over the phone, barely brushing against it, as he choked on the bile rising in his throat. He just couldn't make himself do it, no matter how furious he was.

It was the biggest "fuck you" that Joe had managed in his entire fucked-up life and Billy was still pissed about it. He wasn't ever going to forgive Joe for that.

Worse was the memory of Joe's body laid out in his silk-lined casket, the bullet holes cleaned and cleverly concealed by the morticians. They'd put an unnatural smile on Joe, one that had never graced his face in real life. It had sent shivers down Billy's back and he'd had to turn away, swallowing hard not against tears, but anger.

Flashes of memory, all the things they'd shared over a lifetime of friendship and _more_. Fighting over a pillow and the cramped bunk on their first ragged cross-country tour, sharp elbows to ribs, telling outrageous stories about banging groupies and getting drunk. The fateful grand gesture in New York. The reunion shows. Hasty hand jobs in the back of buses, blow jobs in skanky clubs, the occasional fast fuck in a cheap motel, sweating and grunting on white generic sheets.

The sound of a gunshot. It echoes in Billy's dreams, Joe's swan song.

All of it gone, blown away like dust.

-fin-


End file.
